We were in front of Walmart's beer fridge, looking at a $7.97 six-pack of Samuel Adams. “You think that's a good price for beer,” said my old neighbor, Barry Lynn. “But it's not.”

The price of beer is the kind of thing that we used to talk about years ago, when I lived in Washington, D.C., and Barry was my Sam Adams-drinking downstairs neighbor. But lately, when he talks about the price of beer, he's not just talking about the bottle in his hand. He's talking about globalized monopoly capitalism.

Back in 2006 — long before phrases like “TARP,” “stimulus package” and “bailout” had entered my vocabulary — Barry published a book on the coming crash of corporations too big to fail.

These days, he works for a think tank, The New America Foundation, and he was in Houston to sign his new book, Cornered.

The classic definition of a monopoly is a company so large that it can affect the supply of its product, and thus the price. By that definition, he said, almost every segment of American industry is controlled by monopolies.

The beers in front of us were manufactured or distributed by entities largely controlled by only two companies: Anheuser-Busch InBev or MillerCoors.

Texas alcohol laws actually encourage some of that consolidation, making it impossible for little guys to sell their wares directly to stores or bars without an intermediary. Those beer-distributing intermediaries are monopolies affiliated with either Anheuser-Busch InBev or MillerCoors. They're wildly profitable. And they contribute heavily to politicians, who keep state laws working in their favor.

I was happy to see Saint Arnold, which is locally owned and locally brewed, on Walmart's shelves. But to get there, it had to go through Silver Eagle Distributors, one of two monopolies that control the Houston area — and a distributor heavily entangled with Anheuser-Busch.

When I buy Saint Arnold at Walmart, I'm supporting an independent brewery that does great things for my hometown. But I'm also supporting a distribution monopoly somewhat controlled by a brewing monopoly. And I'm supporting Walmart, a company now vastly larger, relative to the U.S. economy, than those that once inspired trust-busting anti-monopolists.

“It's not just beer,” Barry said. “It's everything.”

Invisible monopolies

As we walked around the Walmart aisles, he pointed out more invisible monopolies. A zillion different brands of cat food were produced by the same manufacturer, Menu Foods. Only the labels and the marketing were different.

Walmart itself is a company now vastly larger, relative to the U.S. economy, than those that once inspired trust-busting anti-monopolists.

Since the 1980s, Barry says, monopolies have taken over almost every segment of the American market. While both Republicans and Democrats praised the free market and the magic of deregulation, they passed laws that allowed businesses to dominate their markets.

But is that so terrible? Aren't big companies more efficient than little ones? And doesn't efficiency mean lower prices? Doesn't government regulation mean that costs are passed on to consumers?

Barry rolled his eyes at those arguments. He's no fan of big government, which leaches power from regular human beings. But government has to set the rules that prevent monopolies. Without those rules, the free market doesn't work.

“You'd think everything would be more expensive in Washington because there are more regulations,” he said in the parking lot, as we were getting ready to leave. “But D.C. has liquor laws that actually encourage competition.

“That six-pack of Sam Adams?” he said. “I could get that cheaper at home at a mom-and-pop store.”

I wasn't sure I believed him. So I Googled, looking for a mom-and-pop, beer-selling place in Mt. Pleasant, our old neighborhood. And I called something called Argyle Convenient Store.

How much, I asked, is a six-pack of Sam Adams Boston Lager? “Seven forty-nine,” the clerk told me.